


Tear You Apart

by lonelydaisies



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rough Sex, awkward bar conversations, implied rape, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:04:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6330334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelydaisies/pseuds/lonelydaisies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one night stand with Frank Castle leaves you breathless, wanting more but he's too cold and distant to properly get hold of afterwards; everything about him is rough, intimidating but it's impossible to keep him off of your mind as the following days pass. A week later, a violent encounter with a strange man leaves you wanting revenge, and the one person who's willing to help is one you never thought you'd see again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A First

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so right off the bat I just want to apologize for the terrible summary they are literally my weakest point rip. This first chapter takes place before Frank begins his work as the Punisher. And the rest, well, you'll see!!

The smell of the place hits you like a brick to the face, and you scrunch your nose up once the door behind you closes and you're completely trapped in the bar without a single hint of fresh air to save you from this hell. There's mostly nothing but men; though there's a woman sitting in the back corner but she's old, probably in her late fifties and you guess that the cigarette that rests between her lips isn't the first one she's smoked tonight.

You keep your eyes forward as you walk over to the stool in front of the bartender but you can feel eyes on you, boring into you as they travel up and down your body and you're suddenly very aware of just how tight your grey pencil skirt really is. All you wanted to do was have a few drinks to unwind from your first day of work, but your stress level practically skyrockets once a man bumps into you, shoulder slamming against your own but you ignore him and the high pitched whistle that he sends your way once you finally reach the stool at the end of the bar.

"What'll it be?" the bartender leans in with his hands both placed firmly on the counter, raising an eyebrow as he receives no answer.

"I don't know," you admit after some thought, "something strong."

There's a shot of vodka placed in front of you just moments later, and you down it all in one go, lightly placing the shot glass back down onto the counter; your actions much more gentle than the rest of the customers' around you.

You let out a sigh once a strand of hair falls down and out from the loose bun on top of your head, though you don't have the motivation to move it; instead sitting in silence in your own little world. You let your mind fill with thoughts of your work day, and you groan to yourself when you sadly realize what time you have to get up tomorrow morning.

Out of your peripheral vision you can see a man sit down beside you, broad shoulders and slightly hunched over posture. You chance a glance at him when he orders his drink, and his eyes meet yours and it's only for a second but you're embarrassed, your eyes flicking back down to your empty shot glass. You lick your lipstick coated lips, clearing your throat in hopes that it'll also clear your mind.

"Another?" the man behind the bar asks, half empty bottle of vodka already in hand as if he already knows what your response will be.

"Might as well." you reason, sliding the glass over a bit to him as you watch the liquid so gracefully pour into the glass.

You down it immediately, without a second thought. There's a game of pool going on in the back of the bar and you hear a man yell in celebration as he ends the game with a win. You smile to yourself, amused at the pure excitement in his voice. The man beside you orders another of whatever he was having, and you turn to him again, the alcohol in your bloodstream giving you a bit more confidence than you usually dealt with.

"Isn't it a little strange to wear a jacket like that in this sort of weather?" you motion a hand at the heavy black jacket he's wearing, the humidity of the outside seeping into the old cracked windows of the bar.

The man lets out a grunt in response, "You usually talk to strange men in bars?"

"No, today is a first." you laugh a little, looking up to get a good look at him this time from underneath the dim lighting; noticing the shaved sides of his head and the stubble of facial hair, the way his eyebrows furrow once he takes a swig of his drink. You wonder what his blossoming beard would feel like against your skin; quite rough, you suppose.

"I've actually never been here before, bars aren't usually my thing." you confess with a shrug.

He's quiet for a while, and you guess that he's not in the mood to talk, and it feels like minutes have passed before he finally speaks up, "So what brought you in here, then?"

"Horrible day." you reply simply, watching your glass as you twirl it around with your fingers.

The man lets out a huff of breath, "Had a lot of those." he says wryly.

You take the next moment to introduce yourself, managing to clearly state your name without stuttering, holding out your hand and he takes it in his own without hesitation. His skin is warm, his fingers rough and palms calloused but you don't mind at all.

"Frank." is all he says before shifting back to face forward, towards all of the alcoholic drinks that were shelved above, "So, uh-" he stops mid-sentence, as if contemplating if getting to know you better was a good idea, "What's made your day so horrible?"

You take a deep breath, bitter smile creeping up to your lips as you mull over the events of your day, "First day of my new job."

"Sounds like shit already." Frank jokes and there's a smirk ghosting at the corner of his mouth, taunting you once he glances at you from out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah," you let out a breathless laugh, "I'm a secretary for some rich asshole. The other people there are great, but, I don't know." finally tucking that loose strand of hair behind your ear, you bite at the inside of your cheek in thought, "I guess first days are always the worst."

Frank downs the rest of his drink, glass slamming down onto the cold bar counter and he groans as the alcohol burns on it's way down his throat.

"Another," he calls out with a wave of his hand, "for her, too."

"Maybe I have somewhere to be." you tease, the look he gives you next causing your stomach to do this ticklish flipping thing. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Probably both.

"Let me guess," he starts, tone laced with amusement, "back to an empty apartment. Probably a cat lady, treat 'em like your kids."

"Yes and no." you laugh wholeheartedly, "I'm more of a dog person."

Frank raises his glass towards you and nods his head, "You know what you're talkin' about." his words are slightly slurred but you can tell that he knows how to handle his alcohol, he's three glasses in now and he seems perfectly fine.

You, on the other hand, were really beginning to feel the effects of your previous shots. Not fully drunk just yet, but you can tell you're tipsy because you can't fight back the goofy smile on your face, your mind a little fuzzy, but you like it this way.

Downing your shot, you tell yourself that it'll be the last one for the night; a promise you'll sadly stick too. You wanted to keep going, to sit and talk with your new friend for a bit longer but the thought of waking up hungover and exhausted for your second day of work wasn't exactly an appealing one.

You fidget with the empty shot glass, spinning it a bit before running the tip of your index finger along the rim, a bit of your cherry red lipstick stained on the clear surface from where your lips had touched.

Reaching for the strap of your purse in your lap, you loop your arm through it, clearing your throat to gain Frank's attention.

"It was, uh, nice meeting you." you smile sweetly up at him, and his eyes are dark, pupils a bit larger than they really should be and he nods in acknowledgement.

After tossing the money down for your drinks, you push yourself up to stand, your black pumps clacking on the hard floor beneath you and you fiddle with the strap of your purse with your thumb and forefinger, biting down on your lip as thoughts of not wanting to leave in this moment race through your head. Gathering all of the courage you can muster, you place a light hand on his shoulder, touch barely even there and he turns his head to look back at you.

"I would really hate to go back to my empty apartment alone." your voice is practically a whisper, and part of you wishes that he didn't hear you because that was the worst line you've ever used. Ever.

Frank raises his eyebrows, spinning the glass in his hand in a small circle before lifting it up to down it, glass once again slammed down. He reaches into his back pocket, grabs his wallet and your breath hitches in your throat once you realize that he's actually going along with what's happening.

You take a step back to allow him room to stand, he's a bit shorter than you expected and his chest bumps against your shoulder, your stomach doing another silly flip before you turn and head for the door. No one catcalls you this time, you have Frank's presence to thank for that.

There's a brisk gust of a breeze once you step out of the bar, but it does nothing to take away from the humidity and you just want to get home before your skin is hot and sticky from the heat, though you suppose that whatever happens with Frank, he'll leave you just the same.

You can hear the faint thumping of his boots against the pavement as he follows close behind you, obviously not in any rush to get back to your apartment. It was still fairly early, though. You had plenty of time.

Ten minutes later and you're walking up the steps to your apartment complex, heart suddenly beating faster against your chest when you enter and make your way up another set of stairs to the second floor. You go to swallow down your nervousness but your mouth is too dry, and when you reach for the set of keys in your purse you fumble with them for a good seven seconds before finally retrieving them.

Frank is behind you, broad chest pressed against your back and you guess he can probably sense your nerves because you're obviously a wreck. He places a hand on your waist while you unlock the door, the warmth of his touch burning through the fabric of your scarlet blouse and when he grips the spot there you swear your skin is on fire.

You kick off your heels and set them aside once you finally make it into your place, and you turn to walk past him but he has you pressed up against the wall in one swift motion, the cool feeling of the wall against the bare skin of your arms a sharp contrast compared to his skin.

The both of you are already beginning to breathe heavily despite the fact that nothing has really happened yet. Frank has both hands gripping your shoulders and he grips them even tighter once you peak up at him from behind your eyelashes, biting your bottom lip in anticipation.

You kiss him, finally, and it's quite gentle but the second Frank's hand wraps around the back of your neck he has you melting under his touch. He pulls you in closer, bodies pressed flush against each other and there's that sweet feeling of want pooling in your middle, and you moan against his mouth once his tongue makes it's appearance. The hand on your shoulder moves to the zipper on the back of your skirt and he has it off faster than you can count, his short nails digging into the sensitive skin of your neck and when he finally pulls away from the kiss he leaves you breathless.

Stepping out from the skirt pooled around your feet, Frank ends up pushing you even harder up against the wall this time, chapped lips attacking the skin of your throat and your hand snakes around to the back of his head to pull him in closer, the stubble of facial hair scratching against your skin and it's an odd sensation, though you don't ever want it to end.

You reach your free hand down to palm at the front of his pants and he lets out an audible sigh into the dip of your neck, biting down on the skin there to stifle a groan that bubbles from low in his throat and when his fingers trace over the lace of your underwear you moan shamelessly, head falling back to bump against the wall.

He's moving so fast that your head is spinning even more than before and you have to place a firm hand on his chest to get to him take a second and breathe. You unbutton your blouse quickly, fearing that he'll get too impatient and rip it off you without a second thought. It is your favorite article of clothing, after all.

Frank has you boxed in between his arms as his palms lay flat against the wall behind you, his chest rising and falling at a visibly fast pace and his hands are immediately on your chest once you toss your bra to the floor. The skin of his hands is rough and the way they feel against your breasts is something otherworldly, and once he mouths at your nipple you're already moaning louder than you have in longer than you can remember. There's roughness in his movements that match everything about him and you're biting down so hard on your bottom lip that you wouldn't be surprised if you begin to taste blood soon.

You're dropping to your knees before you even think it through, shaky hands fumbling with his belt buckle before finally tugging his pants down. You take him in your hands without another thought, the tip of your index finger running over the tip and his groans above you, his right hand reaching down to tangle in your hair, the tips of his fingers gripping at the roots of your hair as it falls out of it's bun just a little bit more.

You run your tongue up his length before taking him in your mouth, Frank's grip on your hair tightening at the sensation of your lips closing around him and he takes over then, guiding your head up and down and the second he hits the back of your throat you swallow down a gag, the action earning you a grunt in return from above and you have to place your hands on his thighs to steady yourself, the cold hardwood floor beneath you not very kind to your knees as you continue to kneel in front of him.

He quickens his pace, hips jerking and you suspect that he's close and there's a shiver running up your spine at the thought of tasting him but he pulls away all too quickly, leaving you a gasping mess, hair finally falling out of it's messy bun and lips bruised and slick with spit. Frank tugs you up by your hair and it hurts but you love it, and the way he has his lips meeting yours oh so roughly has your legs shaking even more than before.

Frank guides you back until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your bed, and he gives a harsh shove to your chest so that you're falling back onto the squeaky mattress below you. After discarding his jacket, he lifts his shirt over his head, tosses it down to the floor and there's this look in his eyes that's borderline predatory, and you have to squeeze your thighs tight together to keep yourself sane.

He bends down, mattress sounding at the weight of his body, leaning over you and the kiss that he gives you is the complete opposite of the others. It's slow, passionate and he takes his time, working his lips against your own and he has you practically purring, his hand running up your thigh before grabbing your waist. The kiss ends and he's gripping your waist hard like before, and the smirk on his face is the last thing you see before he flips you over onto your stomach, his hand reaching under you to lift your bottom half up; ass in the air, all for him.

"Yeah," he praises, voice deep, "just like that."

He enters you without warning, his lower half pressed firmly against your ass and you moan out in pure bliss at the feeling of him filling you; stretching you fully. His first thrusts are slow, drawn out and your lips part to let out an almost silent moan, and you can hear a low laugh behind you as he brings both hands to grab onto your hips, pulling you back into him this time.

Frank picks up his pace suddenly, completely ruthless with you and you end up burying your face in the rustled blankets of your bed to keep yourself from yelling out at the way he's making you feel. The way his hips slap against you from behind is enough to drive you insane, the sound resonating off the walls but you're not even embarrassed, that wonderful feeling in the pit of your stomach growing with each second; with each rapid thrust.

He's reaching around you now, the rough pads of his fingers finding your clit as he begins his ministrations on that perfect sweet spot. You're moaning out his name now, mind nothing but mush and the sweat that covers your body has the sheets from your bed sticking to your arms.

The fast paced circles on your clit are what finally have you coming undone, your orgasm taking over and your jaw goes slack as it rushes through you, the sensation so fucking good that you're completely silent, too far gone to even make a sound.

Frank is still fucking you as you come down, right hand moving from your clit to get lost in the mess that you call your hair and his breathing is ragged, thrusts now erratic and uneven, and he pulls out of you just in time to release himself on your spine with a grunt, cum meeting the sweaty dip of your back and you finally collapse in on yourself, falling to your side and he's breathing dangerously fast, the street lights from outside peaking in through the curtains to illuminate his figure and you take the moment to appreciate his toned body, the muscles on his torso hard and defined.

He's dressing without a word now, and your eyes slip closed as he does so. You can hear the rustle of his jeans, the clank of his belt buckle, the thumping of his boots as he makes his way over to the door of your apartment.

"Bye." you say but he's already out of your place, door latching behind him once it's fully closed.

Five minutes later and you're still in the same spot, sweat beginning to dry on your sticky skin and you miss him. You've only known him for at most four hours but you want him back, and you hate yourself for it.


	2. White Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to give a heads up that there's implied rape in this chapter! I don't downright write about it, but it's there; and from here on out it'll be mentioned here and there with each chapter, because obviously, revenge is a large chunk of the plot for this fic.

It's been nine days. Yes, you were keeping track, but that wasn't the point.

You hadn't seen Frank since the night he left, the last image of him in your head is of that little smirk he wore before turning you over onto your stomach and it drove you up the fucking wall. Sure, you had your share of random one night flings, but there was something different about it this time. The way Frank carried himself, the way he looked at you- it stayed with you all those days later and you swear that if you don't see him again soon that you'll lose your mind.

Work was hell, your boss is an absolute asshole as always but you're almost thankful for your long stressful days because it was the only time you were busy, mind occupied with thoughts that revolved around other people and things that had nothing to do with Frank at all. Your coworkers were sweet, though, and so when two of your new friends invite you out for a drink, you can't bring yourself to say no. Having a social life was great; taking time to do something other than obsess over a man who you hardly knew was even better.

"Which bar are we going to?" you ask Amanda. She's the one that brings doughnuts in to the office every other morning.

"That one around the corner, ever been?" she bumps her shoulder with yours as she walks closely beside you, the light breeze rustling through her shoulder length hair.

"Uh, yeah." you swallow hard, "The other week, actually."

"It's a shit hole!" your other coworker, Ryan, yells from a good distance in front of you, already at the front door of the bar.

"You're the one that recommended it." Amanda retorts, pushing past him before linking her arm through yours.

Minutes later, you're taking a seat in one of the booths in the back, beer in hand and surrounded by your two very obnoxious friends. Amanda is fighting with Ryan because he downright denies the fact that he ate the piece of pie that she left sitting out in the break room. You caught a glimpse of him eating it earlier that day, but you don't say anything.

You take a swig of your beer and fuck it tastes like him, the smoke from the cigarettes around you floating up to cloud around the light fixtures, and you remember how the smell clung to him so desperately, the way his fingers felt tracing up your thigh and the way they gripped your onto waist, the way-

"She's ignoring us." Ryan complains, lightly kicking your leg underneath the table.

"Sorry." you snap back to reality, sighing hard before reaching back to tighten your ponytail.

"You have to side with me on this." Amanda grabs onto your forearm, slender fingers wrapping slightly around your wrist, "He ate my pie,"

"I fucking did not!" he's getting a little too angry for an argument about pie, and you choke out a laugh at his antics.

"You did." you say smugly, winking at him before gulping down more of your beer.

"I told you! I knew it!" Amanda yells, regardless of the close proximity between you three, "You're paying for our drinks tonight."

Ryan gives in, holding up his hands in defeat and he's up and out of the booth a few seconds later, "Want another beer?"

"No thanks." you reply with a wave of your hand, shaking the bottle in your hand a little bit to show that it's still more than half full.

Amanda opts for scrolling through her phone rather than talking to you, and your eyelids begin to feel heavier than usual, the dim lighting of the place not exactly helping. From your spot in the corner you can see a man sit down on one of the bar stools, head shaved and he's wearing black long sleeved shirt; and there's this flutter of hope in your chest that almost has you jumping up and out of your seat, but once you see his side profile, your heart sinks.

You want to kick yourself for being so fixated on Frank, you knew close to nothing about him; but you guess part of your attraction to him was fueled by that fact. Was he from Hell's Kitchen, hell, did he even live in New York? Letting out another sigh, you furrow your brows, bottom lip in a tight hold between your teeth out of pure frustration.

"You okay?" Amanda asks, and she sounds quite amused with your current state but you just shake you head at her, taking another sip of beer.

"I think I'll head home." you finally say once Ryan makes his way back to the booth, sliding Amanda's glass over to her and it almost glides off the table.

"You sure?" Ryan asks though he doesn't even sound like he could care less as he takes a sip of his drink, not even chancing a glance your way.

"Yeah, um, I'm gonna go." your voice cracks in the middle of your sentence, but you choose to ignore it as you bring the strap of your purse up and onto your shoulder. Your friends bid you a simple goodbye, and then you're gone.

It's cooler outside than it had been the past few weeks, the humidity not as bad as it was and you're thankful for it. As you walk, you finally realize just how uncomfortable your heels are and you're practically limping the next minute afterward. The slippery pavement doesn't help, the rain from earlier this morning leaving puddles in it's wake and you have to constantly dodge them again and again.

It's late, you haven't checked the time on your phone in a while but you guess that it's almost ten. Walking the streets of Hell's Kitchen wasn't new it you, you'd become accustomed to it pretty quickly once you moved here all those years ago; in fact, you enjoyed walking alone. You loved admiring the street lights and the LED signs in each of the shop's windows; and the way the lights from above reflected in the rain puddles made the lights look like glitter.

As you turn the corner on your left you remind yourself that washing laundry sometime tomorrow is something that you should really do, it was your day off, after all. Washing the sheets from your bed wouldn't be a bad idea, either.

You're snapped out of your thoughts when an unpleasant stomping of boots meets your ears, the sound getting closer by the second and it has you clenching your jaw anxiously. There's a small container of pepper spray at the bottom of your purse, burred under all the trash and useless shit that really shouldn't be in there; but you've never been in a situation where you had to you use it, and you're grateful for that. But now you're sneaking a hand into your bag, attempting to be discreet but there's so much stuff piled on top of it that the rustling is the exact opposite of subtle.

Picking up your pace as the footsteps remain behind you, your hand is still shoved in your purse and your pulse is thumping loudly in your ears now- loud enough to block out the sounds of the bit of traffic around but the presence of other people does nothing to help you feel safe. With so much of your attention focused on grabbing your pepper spray, you end up stepping into a rain puddle, the dip in the sidewalk is deep and has you tripping over yourself, falling to the ground and instantly scraping your knees raw.

No, no, no- you hastily try your hardest to collect the contents that had fallen out of your purse, but you still can't even find the pepper spray and- fuck, was it even in there anymore?

"Need some help, ma'am?" a deep voice asks from above but you don't give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes, instead mumbling a small 'no' in response.

You stand up on wobbling legs, and the blood from your scraped knees is dripping down the front of your legs, over your ankles and it seeps down into the crack where the side of your heels meet your feet. The blood is warm and it's an all around unpleasant feeling, the cuts on your knees already begin to irritate and itch but you know the safest thing to do is to get far, far away from here.

One step is all the further you get before there's a hand grabbing onto your upper arm, his grip is deathly tight and it pinches at your skin there. You try to pull away, using all your strength but when he pulls you into him you're tripping over yourself again, and you try to kick your heels off because maybe- just maybe being able to stand barefoot would give you a better chance at steadying yourself and getting away.

"You're pretty weak, girl, you know that?" the man laughs at you, he has a thick Philadelphia accent, his breath smells of garlic and alcohol and you have to hold down a gag once the smell fans over your face.

"Get off." you try to sound stern but your voice wavers from pure fear, and you're still trying to tug away from his grip; already feeling the oncoming bruises from this nightmare.

You're tugged into the small alley directly to your right, it's eerie and damp and litter scatters the ground around you. Your breathing is out of control- panic setting in because fuck this can't be happening right now. Sending a kick his way, he dodges it effortlessly and he chuckles deeply at your poor attempt to break free. The brick wall that you're slammed up against is rough against the skin of your back as your shirt rides up from your constant struggle to get away. The man brings his free hand up to wrap around your throat, dirt underneath his fingernails and his hands are disgustingly rough, and they feel like they haven't been washed in weeks.

It isn't until he grasps your jaw and tilts your head up that you're forced to look at him. His eyes are dark, his beard is unkempt and the tribal tattoo that dances around his neck is unprofessionally done. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, thinking of the best escape plan and you do the first thing that comes to your mind.

You spit in his face.

"Fucking bitch-" The punch that collides with your stomach is brutal, knocking every breath out of you as your eyes go wide with fear. Once you're coughing and gasping for air, it all finally begins to sinks in. This man has a tight hold on you and won't let go, and physical violence towards a woman seems to be a normal thing for him.

You want to double over, to curl up and cry but his grip on you almost has your toes off of the ground, and so you scream. You scream as loud as you possibly can, this time cut off by a harsh slap to the face. The tears in your eyes blur your vision, and he doesn't even look like a human being anymore. The street lights are farther away now, and the darkness mixed with the blurriness of your vision truly makes him out to look what he really is; a monster.

After that you pretty much shut down, you're in and out of what's happening and you wish you could just pass out, collapse into the little rain puddles below and wake up in your bed the next morning; happy and safe.

From the way his fingers tighten around your throat, though, you know that's not how this will go.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

The searing light of the sun shines through the thin curtains of your apartment, stirring you from your sleep. Immediately, you feel the pounding headache that hasn't left you since last night. You rub your eyes, smearing your already leftover messy makeup even more, and you can still feel the dried tears from just hours earlier. You don't have to move to be reminded that you're in pain, the constant throbbing in your midsection leaves you with shallow, pained breaths and you wish that you could just fall back asleep, but the thought of having nightmares fueled from what had just happened has you deciding against it.

Sitting up takes every bit of effort in you, and your muscles are sore and aching with the smallest of movements. The pain is most prominent near where you'd been punched, and as you run a hand over your face you can feel a rather large cut from the slap you had received. You know that you should clean up but you're too afraid to go into the bathroom; the thought of catching a glimpse of your broken down self in the mirror too much for you to handle in this moment.

You do, though, but you still keep your head down while passing by the mirror. Tossing your work clothes to the floor, there's this sudden urge to rip them up, to burn them until they're absolutely nothing. The water from your shower is painfully hot, burning your skin and you scrub so violently at every inch of yourself that your skin turns bright red from the irritation. All you wanted was to feel clean, to feel like your normal self again but as the soap turns into little suds and bubbles it does nothing for you. The soap stings the cuts on your knees, and when you run the washcloth over the hideously large bruise over your ribs, you wince out in pain.

It isn't until you begin to wash your makeup off that you're crying, shoulders shaking violently as you sink to the floor of the shower. Your skin is numb from the abuse, and you can feel your headache instantly worsening the second the first tear rolls down your cut up cheek. You gasp for air each time you inhale, and your throat feels raw as you do so. Tugging at the roots of your hair, you hold back a scream that builds deep in your throat. You're tired- so tired. You feel used, like you've been crumbled up and thrown into the garbage. You feel sick to your stomach, and the thought of breakfast isn't appealing in the slightest.

You're curled up on the couch minutes later, hair still dripping wet but you couldn't care less. Going to the police was pointless; you've heard too many stories of things like this being reported and then having the cases basically thrown into the trash. You didn't want to put yourself through even more hell for just the slightest possibility of that monster sitting in a jail cell for a year or two.

No, you wanted more. For him to feel the way he'd made you feel- to make him feel even worse than you do now. You wanted him in pain, screaming for mercy; and to finish it off, you wanted him dead.

The violent thoughts didn't scare you; you were too angry to feel anything but the want for revenge, and seeing the bruises that litter your wrists and arms, the want only grows. And you were going to get it, one way or another. Whatever it took, that man is going to die for what he did to you.


	3. Please

The amount of caffeine that's currently in your body is dangerously high, especially for ten in the morning, but the second you crawled out of bed you you just couldn't help yourself. Coming into work today was an obstacle you knew you had to face sooner or later, and all it did was spike up your anxiety to a whole new level that you didn't even know existed. You have to use every ounce of self control in you not to run down all those flights of stairs and dart out the front door of the building, but the coffee cup in your hand reminds you that you have a job to do just like everyone else, and facing your boss after days without stepping foot near work was unavoidable to say the least.

No one greeted you when you arrived in the morning, all too busy with their own tasks and you were extremely grateful because the band-aid placed along your cheekbone was not subtle in the slightest, and you really weren't in the mood for unnecessary questions and lies. You're exhausted, both emotionally and physically, and when you looked in the mirror earlier that morning, you realized that your concealer couldn't even fully cover the dark circles underneath your eyes.

Other than the small chatter coming from the occasional opened doorways, it's quiet as you walk down the long boring hallways, the sound of your heels no longer present as it usually is seeing as you opted to wear a pair of flats today. You're in front of your bosses office before you know it, and your hand shakes a bit before giving three soft knocks against the closed door.

You crack the door open when you receive no answer, and without even chancing a glance up at you he beckons you in with a sluggish wave of his hand, the silver frames of his glasses sitting low on his nose. Continuing to outright ignore your presence, you clear your throat before nervously speaking.

"I brought you your coffee, sir. Also, there are a few documents that need looked over and-"

"You missed four days straight without giving any notice." he cuts you off with the harsh tone of his voice, blue eyes still scanning over the paper in his hand.

"Yes, and I'm sorry Mr. Gleeson, it's just-"

"I don't need excuses, grab the remaining things from your desk and go home. I'm in need of an secretary that actually does their job."

You aren't shocked in the least, but you're still hurt as you place the folders down on his tidied desk, choosing to keep the coffee for yourself because fuck him, you needed it and if he wanted some, he could go ahead and find that perfect secretary he had so fondly mentioned.

The walk to your desk seemed as if it took hours, though it only takes a minute to grab your things because you'd hardly even settled in in the first place. With the strap of your purse over your shoulder, you place the coffee mug down, not even bothering to return it to the break room as you head straight for the front doors. You don't tell anyone goodbye, you don't have time for friendships anymore, anyway.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

Fast food wasn't the most desirable food option, but considering the fact that you really had no motivation to cook yourself a decent lunch, you found yourself shoving fry after fry into your mouth while sitting in the corner of a Mcdonald's restaurant.

Someone walks past your table to dump the remaining food on their tray into the trash, he's tall and bulky and your throat goes tight, heartbeat instantly beginning to race and you slide further into the booth, shoulder pressed up against the dirty wall to avoid all contact with him, as well as the other men in there.

You take a breath to calm yourself, but that eerie feeling from days ago creeps back up on you and there are goosebumps rising on your skin, and you feel shaky, on the verge of panicking and you try your best to calm yourself but every time you blink you can see him from behind your eyelids. It's dark, his hands are rough and it's not pleasant in the slightest, he's dirty and grimy and all around a disgusting human being. His voice is ingrained into your memory, the stature of his body, and the second that tattoo appears in your mind, you're fetching a pen from your purse, sketching it down on the one clean napkin placed in the middle of the table.

It's in this moment that you truly decide to go after him, to spend your now unemployed days searching for him; tracking him down to make him feel worse than he could ever imagine. It's going to be hard, emotionally exhausting and a part of you wonders that if you actually go through with this, will it even fix things? You swear under your breath, shaking your head at yourself because it doesn't matter anymore, you were going to find him, no matter what it took. There wouldn't be a single moment left for hesitation, and as you picture him curled in on himself, bloodied and crying, it's gone in an instant.

\------------------------------------------------------------------

There's a slight chill in the air today and you quickly zip up the front of your hoodie once you step outside of your apartment complex. It's overcast, the sun nowhere in sight and you guess that you should probably bring an umbrella with you, but hauling it around all day waiting for a few drops of rain to finally hit wasn't something you wanted to deal with on top of everything else.

You hold your purse close against your waist as you make your way down the few remaining steps, the new bottle of pepper spray that you'd bought linked to a keychain so that you can tuck it inside your purse and still have the option to quickly grab it if you must. You should really get an actual weapon to protect yourself with, especially since you're planning on outright murdering a man, and so you take a mental note of it. A knife would be easier to obtain, it's simple and knowing how to use one was common sense; but it'd need to be a nice one, worthy of carrying out the job.

As you walk down each block you almost feel rather ridiculous seeing as you were wearing heavily tinted sunglasses on such a dark day, but you'd do anything to disguise yourself as best as possible, and you'd like to do it subtly as well. Your ponytail bounces a bit and it tickles at the nape of your neck, sending a chill to race down your spine as you cross the street.

You had it all planned out- well, sort of. Your plan consisted of checking every bad spot in town near where you were attacked, maybe asking a few of the few people - who weren't extremely intimidating - about the man, mentioning his appearance and his obnoxious accent. It wasn't exactly the safest plan, due to the fact that you were attacked by someone who most likely resides in an area such as the ones you were going to snoop around in, but it had to be done. You had to find him - and if that meant spending your days poking around the ugliest parts of Hell's Kitchen, then so be it. You'd have to wait until he was alone, at his most vulnerable, and then you'd hopefully be able to sneak up behind him and knock him out. Dragging his heavy body into a secluded area didn't sound like a whole lot of fun, but it'll be the only way to get him alone and to a place where you feel comfortable enough to do what you came here for.

Twenty minutes later and you're at your first destination, it's some shitty street in the middle of town filled with nothing but shady stores, and you find yourself holding your breath the second you turn and enter the creepy little pawn shop that's squeezed in between all the other secondhand stores, hoping that maybe- just maybe they'd have a knife that you'd be able to use.

The bell above the door dings as you hesitantly push the it open, and you have to wipe the palms of your hands against your thighs to get rid of the sweat that begins to surface. There's no one at the front counter, but the sign on the door indicates that it’s open so you continue to walk farther into the shop, right hand gripping your purse, close to the bottle of pepper spray. There are guitars hung up on the walls, a countless amount of tacky knickknacks on the shelves beside you. There are books, jewelry, even kitchen blenders, but not a single sign of anything remotely resembling a knife.

"You need help finding anything?" a voice asks from behind you, and you turn quickly to face the man behind the counter, eyes wide with surprise as you swallow hard.

"No, uh, I was just leaving." you practically stutter over your words, not at all interested in staying around to chat with the man any longer. The swastika tattoo on his neck was enough to have you hightailing it out of there.

"Nice sunglasses, interested in making a trade?" he leans up against the counter, elbows pressing against the glass as he clasps his hands together.

"No, thank you." you turn to head out the door but you end up bumping into one of the shelves in the process, at the same time pressing up against the bruises on your upper arm and you wince in pain, biting down on your tongue to keep yourself from swearing out in public. Thankfully you don't break anything, but it's definitely going to add to the collection of bruises already on your body.

The bell dings above your head once again as you leave, tugging the sleeves of your hoodie farther down and over your hands before stopping in your tracks; the big, cream and burgundy van across the street gaining your attention. It's big enough to live in, the back doors are swung open and a pair of black boots catch your eye. Something inside of you screams, reminding you of the pair of boots that Frank wore the night you met him - but it couldn't be him. Things don't work out that easily for you, they never did.

You find yourself crossing the street anyway, nervous and jittery and your heart is pounding against your chest as the anticipation quickly bubbles up inside of you. You keep your head down as you walk, almost not wanting to look up to find out that, no, it isn't Frank. It's just your wishful thinking again, something that always got the best of you.

Stopping with a good amount of space between you and the stranger, your eyes travel from his boots and up his dark jeans, to his dark jacket and fuck, holy fuck-

"Frank?" your voice is louder than intended, and his head whips around to look at you, eyebrows furrowed and eyes holding an intimidating glare.

"Holy shit." he's amused to say the least, drawing out each syllable as he speaks.

Frank turns to properly face you, crossing his ankles as he leans back against his van, arms crossing over his chest. A small part of you feels embarrassed, dressed in an old pair of leggings and a blue tattered hoodie, hair that hasn't been brushed in days pulled back and fuck. Your sunglasses. They're off your face before he says another word, but now he can see the prominent dark circles beneath your eyes but you force yourself to push the insecurity to the back of your mind; now wasn't the time.

"It's, um- it's been a while." you're stuttering over your words again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you speak.

He's the one looking you up and down this time, cocking a brow and it's no doubt due to how terrible and worn out you look, such a complete contrast to how professional and put together you looked the night you met him. Frank moves, shifting his weight to his right foot and you get a peak into his van, lips parting in awe of what you can see propped up against the wall in the very, very back.

Guns. And lots of them.

"I need you." is all you say, pleading look in your eyes and this time both of his eyebrows are raising, as if asking, what the fuck?

"Listen, I don't have time for shit like that anymore-"

"No," you cut him off, shaking your head at his assumption. With clammy hands and nervous movements, you go to lift the sleeves of your hoodie up your arms, just below your elbows to showcase the dark bruises that wrap around your wrists, and as you look down at them you can feel the violence that lingers from your attacker's grip, and you swallow thickly once you feel yourself once again becoming uneasy.

"I need your help." you repeat.

Frank is taking a step closer to you now, going to take hold of your arm but you pull back quickly to avoid his touch - and he seems to get the point.

"Who did this to you?" he asks, voice gruff and his eyes have gone dark now, jaw clenching and unclenching at the sight of the abuse on your skin.

"I don't know," you confess, "but I want to get him back."

"You want to hurt 'em?" he peers down at you, arms once again crossing over his toned chest and you look him dead in the eyes, wrists still out for him to see.

"No," your voice doesn't waver this time, it's firm and you speak with full confidence, "I want him dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay I feel like this could have been a much better chapter than it actually is oops. The past two had a good outline but I basically just went along with whatever came to mind as I wrote this chapter, I still hope it's okay though? The next chapters will be much more exciting lol
> 
> Also, I just want to say thank you to all of those who've left comments on the past chapters, your support means so much!!


	4. Taking Chances

"So you gonna tell me what happened?" Frank asks, plain white mug of coffee in hand, fingers drumming on the side where he cradles it with calloused hands.

"I don't want to talk about it." you say simply. He doesn't need to know every single little detail, and you definitely weren't up for reliving that experience in this current moment.

He scoffs at you, a smile on his face and you can only guess that it's one born from annoyance. You shift your feet around under the table, the band-aid on your cheek causing your skin to itch in the slightest, and you clench your jaw to resist the urge to rip it off and scratch at the area because the last thing you wanted was to re-open the wound.

"Can you at least gimme an outline - what he looked like?" his lips are wet and slick when he runs his tongue over them, savoring the bitter flavor of the pure black coffee.

You close your eyes for a second, swallowing and taking a deep breath to calm yourself. He appears in your mind like always, towering over you and you can feel your chest tighten unpleasantly at the sight of him, of that menacing look painted on those dull features.

"Dark hair," your voice is too quiet, you clear your throat, "really unkempt beard. He was a bit taller than you, a little heavier, too. And, oh-" cutting yourself off, you grab your purse from the edge of the table and rummage through it until you find the sketched on napkin, sliding it across the table top for him to see, "There's this."

"A tattoo?" Frank's eyebrows furrow as he studies the picture, memorizing it as best as possible before shoving it into the pocket of his heavy black jacket.

You nod your head, biting your lip in anticipation because deep down you're really hoping he'll recognize the sloppy drawing of the tattoo that's even uglier in person, but once he takes a huge gulp of his coffee without another word, your shoulders slump and you find yourself letting out a heavy breath.

"I'll see what I can find out." he says a minute later, swirling the last sip of his drink around in it's mug before eyeing you, as if noticing you had something to say.

"Can I ask you a question now?" you look him in the eye, almost getting lost in the dreamy deep brown hues but the task at hand is more important than what you feel for this guy, and so you push it back down - deep, _deep_ down. The thought of actually being intimate with someone in your current state would be a nightmare, anyway.

"Depends." Frank's monotone voice is muffled from behind the coffee mug, eyes still locked with yours when he downs the last drink.

"Why do you have so many guns in the back of your van?"

"Don't wanna talk about it." he says just as you had, causing the smallest of smiles to tug at the corners of your mouth.

You try to remember the last time you smiled like this - your mind goes blank.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You stare at the new contact information in your phone, the glowing light of the screen burning your eyes a bit due to the darkness of your room. Frank had told you only to call him in an emergency or if you had come across your attacker; and if he finds anything out, he'll call you as soon as possible.

Locking your phone, you allow it drop from your fingers and down onto your chest, letting out a small sigh as you massage around your temples. The fact that Frank is back in your life - the fact that he's here to help you now, it's all so overwhelming but you're so grateful to have someone to confide in; someone who you can ask for help and have them be fully willing to help you get the revenge that you so rightfully deserve. You still knew next to nothing about Frank, but there was this way he made you feel that makes you comfortable enough to tell him the one thing that you couldn't bring yourself to tell anyone else; and it's means the world to you. You don't need a man to protect you, you can do so just fine on your own but he makes you feel safe; Frank gives you this feeling that no matter what, as long as you're with him, no harm will truly come to you. And you are forever grateful for him.

Visions of the night you spent with him those weeks ago flash behind your eyelids from time to time; they pass quickly, in a flash but it stirs up something inside of you that you don't know if you like anymore. The sounds of his grunts echo in your ears, the way his hands fit the curves of your body so perfectly gives you butterflies - but the thought of ever being that close with someone ever again brings your eyebrows to furrow harshly with an instant cringe on your face.

You suppose that as time goes on you'll possibly feel differently, but sex isn't what you're concerned about anymore. In your mind, there is only one reason you get up in the morning, and that is to carry out what you've finally started pursuing.

Does the fact that you're going to kill a man bother you? Yes, of course it does. You have no idea what to expect, how you'll feel after and what'll happen during all the events that will soon (hopefully) take place. You guess that things could go south, that he could have a good amount of friends that are equally terrible assholes just as he is - that they'll find the perfect time to step in and ruin everything you've already worked so hard to achieve. For all you know, instead of getting the revenge that you so strongly crave, you could end up dead before you even coming close to carrying out your plan.

The thought makes your stomach churn, that familiar tightness in your chest returning and you sit up with a jolt once you hear a bump take over the dead silence of your apartment. Closing your eyes, you focus on the noise only to realize that it's the older woman next door. You swallow hard, chest falling once you sigh in relief. Kicking the covers off from above you, your bare feet meet the cold hardwood below as you begin to make your way to the bathroom.

You avoid your reflection, a new habit for you as long as the cut remains on your face - as long as the bruises that litter your delicate skin are still there to torment you. Your eyes fall to lock on the sink, fingers running through your hair and when you go to grab your toothbrush it's impossible not to catch a glimpse of your wrist in the mirror, the obnoxious dark hues of purple taking over and they're the only thing you see. Reluctantly, your eyes travel up even higher and the bruises on your upper arms make you feel nauseous, and you clench your jaw so tightly that you swear you hear something crack.

Tears obscure your vision as you brush your teeth, rolling down your cheeks and dripping off from your chin. You can't help but look in the mirror now, with bloodshot eyes you realize that there's a cut above your upper lip as well, though it's understandable that you missed it considering your refusal to look at your reflection. You can't bring yourself to break eye contact with your mirror, but you're not even sure that the person you see is you because you swear you've never looked or felt this fucking terrible in your life. When you rinse your mouth out you splash some water on your face as well, and it's so cold that it actually hurts, but you couldn't care less at his point.

You're in bed again, head pressed up against your plush pillow, legs tangled with the one thin sheet on your mattress and you find yourself reaching for your phone, finding that new contact information and you know that Frank will probably be pissed once he receives your text - but then your thumb taps send and it's too late.

_"Thank you."_

You didn't have a chance to thank him earlier after getting coffee, your mind was too fuzzy with what had just taken place and he left so quickly that you really didn't even get to tell him goodbye.

Almost ten minutes pass before your phone dings.

_"Get some sleep, you're gonna need it."_

And for the second time today, you find yourself smiling as you begin to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super short chapter, but I wanted to update with what I had since it's been a while! I'm super excited to write more where the reader and Frank actually spend time together and track this guy down. And thank you all for the support so far!!


	5. Broke and Anxious

The bath water from almost an hour ago has now gone cold, the little bubbles from the bath bomb that you had thrown in have disappeared, the water no longer fizzing, leaving you to bathe in beautiful rosy water. You're basically half asleep by now, goosebumps rising on your skin from the chilled water as your right arm hangs out, resting on the edge of the bathtub. You haven't been this relaxed in so long, your muscles are practically singing - no longer tense and for once, there isn't a single sign of a headache coming on.

You hum contently, shifting your legs a bit in the water. The bruises on your wrists and arms are no more, they had disappeared weeks ago and you can't even put into words how grateful you are for that. To be able to look at yourself in the mirror and not want to break the glass with a balled up fist - that was something you never thought you'd experience again in your lifetime. There's the tiniest hint of a scar left on your cheekbone, it's the only thing now that causes your stomach to churn from time to time, but you're fine, you tell yourself.

It's okay.

You've developed a habit of obsessively checking your phone, though. It's been a month and you haven't seen or even heard from Frank in a little over four weeks, and it's driving you up the fucking wall. You try not to think of the worst; and so you tell yourself that he's still out there - looking. Frank hasn't forgotten about you and he spends every moment in public fully aware of his surroundings, searching for the asshole that had so violently used you for his own selfish amusement, and when he finds him, you'll know.

You're in bed before too long, pulling the freshly washed sheets up to your chin because for the first time in months, it's one of those rare chilly nights in Hell's Kitchen that you always find yourself so desperately wishing for. The moment you close your eyes, Frank is on your mind. It has you swallowing hard and the strong, cool mint flavoring from your toothpaste burns your throat in the slightest of ways. Though they aren't as frequent as they once were, you still have your bad nights, and thinking of Frank is the only way you can ward of the paranoid thoughts and damned feelings.

Frank is going to help you - he is helping you. There's someone out there who cares enough about your feelings and safety that they'd get involved in such a shit show like this, and just that fact alone has your chest constricting in such a strangely sweet way that you don't exactly understand what you feel, how you feel.

These thoughts of your feelings for him float around your head until you finally drift off to sleep, the window of your apartment carelessly left cracked open so that the light breeze can sneak in.

\--------------------------------------------------------

It's your third attempt trying to swipe a coat of mascara onto your lashes, both hands shaking so terribly from nerves that it takes everything within you to not throw the little wand into the toilet and flush it to it's end.

You went to bed last night expecting to wake up to another excruciatingly boring day, just as always. Waking up at seven in the morning to a very vague text from Frank, demanding that you meet up with him at the coffee shop where the two of you had your last encounter, was a surprise that came accompanied with a whole lot of anxiety. The message had you up and out of bed in just seconds, replying back that you'd meet him around eight-thirty, trying your best to prepare yourself with any news he may have for you.

Slipping into a pair of shorts and a simple black shirt, you run a hand through your hair as you step into your shoes. Grabbing your purse, you go to head out the front door, but a bright pink envelope that had been slipped underneath your door has your heart sinking.

Fuck, your rent.

You were able to pay last month's, the biggest downside being that it took almost every cent from your saving's account. Getting fired from your job is still something that haunts you on a daily basis, the regret of not even being good enough to keep a simple secretary job eats you up and job hunting hasn't exactly been successful, or more honestly, hasn't even been something that you had tried to do.

The envelope is shoved into your purse similarly to the way you wish you could push your worries far into the back of your mind. They range from normal, everyday things to the more violent, uncommon ones. Food, money, rent, find a job, try your best to keep sane, keep in contact with Frank, find that disgusting asshole and kill him before he can hurt anyone else.

Locking the door to your apartment behind you, you make your journey down the first set of stairs. The second you step outside, the heat hits you like a slap in the face and you pat at your cheeks because you swear your foundation is already melting off of your face. You'd love to hail a cab, you'd love a nice air conditioned ride to the coffee shop but your pathetically empty wallet is screaming at you to stop being a baby for once and walk.

And so you do, the heat paired with the long walk causing your already anxious heartbeat to quicken to a ridiculous pace and by the time your hand meets the door of the cafe, you're almost dizzy as the universe works to make things as terrible as possible for you.

The little bell above the door dings as you enter, the familiar thumping of your pulse playing subtly in your ears and the moment you spot him in the far corner booth, for some reason you suddenly don't want to be here anymore. He looks just the same as always, sides of his head shaved with his heavy black jacket on, features set into an intimidating resting face, elbows on the table and mouth hidden behind clasped fingers.

And you just stand there, feet glued to the ground but you can't take your eyes off of him - what he has to say may be nothing of importance at all, or it could be just the right thing to set your violent plan into action. It all just seemed like some fucked up dream until now. Not having any contact with Frank for the past month left you completely alone, feeling almost as if this day would never come, and now that it's here, it's entirely too overwhelming.

Frank's eyes scope out the cafe before falling on you, sight tracing up your body to then lock his gaze with your own and his deep brown eyes are the final push you need to have your legs moving you in his direction, your eyes now cast down onto the floor of the cafe because there's that strange pang in your heart again that has you so frustrated and confused.

Your legs stick to the faux, slightly cracked leather of the booth as you slide in across from him, attempting to swallow your nerves down but your throat is too dry and now you're too scared to talk, knowing that the second you open your mouth, all Frank will be greeted with is silence and then a sigh.

A waitress approaches the table before Frank can even grunt out a single syllable towards you, paper and pen in hand, sweet but probably forced smile on her face.

"Just a blueberry muffin, please."

She walks off with yet another smile and a nod, though not before Frank orders another cup of coffee. 

You set your bag off to the side, catching sight of that oh so friendly pink letter peaking out from behind your wallet, and your heart drops, the need to breathe suddenly forgotten along with the hope of ever being able to relax again in your lifetime.

Why did you order the fucking muffin, who the fuck needs a blueberry muffin? Why the fuck did you-

"You okay?"

Frank's voice cuts through the tension in the air around you, and your eyes go a little wide from the question because, fuck no, you're not okay. You brain goes into overdrive, trying and trying it's best to come up with any sort of believable lie that you can spit in his direction. Your mom is sick, your sister's dog died, you don't have any money. Fuck, you really don't have any fucking money.

"I, um," your voice is shaky and you clear your throat, feeling nothing but his eyes on you but you just stare straight at his chest, "I, uh, lost my job the other month. My rent is overdue, and I don't even have fifteen dollars to my name."

Your line of vision drops even lower after your confession, a fluffy blueberry muffin placed in front of you just seconds later on the cutest little white plate but you just see dollar signs, nothing but a waste of money no matter how delicious it looks and you don't even have anything to drink with it, Frank's fresh steaming cup of coffee taunting you from across the table.

"Why the fuck did I get this?" you chastise yourself under your breath, the feeling as if the world's ending caused by a single three dollar muffin.

Minutes pass without a word as you poke and nibble at your muffin, Frank casually sipping from his cup as if you weren't here to discuss a fucking murder plot.

He clears his throat, and you look up once you catch Frank fishing something out of his coat pocket, and it takes a second for you to make out what it actually is but then he slides the old flip phone across the table to you, screen small and dimmed but it's - that's-

"Holy fuck."

It's him, it's actually him.

The dark and greasy hair, that disgusting, coarse beard, it's your attacker in all of his filthy glory, standing outside of some grimy bar with a cigarette resting between his cracked lips, white shirt stained with beer no doubt.

"How did you- how did you fucking find him?" the words come out in nothing but a gasp, the picture is making you sick but you can't stop looking because this is what you've been waiting for, this is the first real step to getting your revenge.

"Hung around some shitty places, asked around a bit." Frank replies behind the cup in his hand, nose scrunching up as he swallows down another gulp of his pure black coffee.

"Do you know where he lives?" you blurt out, slapping the flip phone shut and clutching it with an anxiety ridden fist.

Frank is avoiding any sort of eye contact with you, huffing out a heavy sigh and from his actions alone he's clearly giving away that, yes, he most certainly does.

"Give me his address, I'll-"

"No." the tone of his voice has you choking back your words, face quickly distorting into an extremely unpleasant expression. He has no right to deny you what he's promised all along, he has no right to hold you back from this.

"What the fuck? You can't just-"

"I know that look in your eyes." his voice is deepening, glare now fully connected with your own in attempt to get his point across, "You're gonna do somethin' stupid, get yourself into even more shit, and we don't fuckin' need that."

"You have no idea what I'm planning." you're speaking through your teeth now, anger boiling up inside you, rising up to your chest, your throat, brain going a bit fuzzy.

"Cause there's no way in hell I'm letting you plan anything in the first place. You came to me, asked for my help. That's what you're gonna get."

Your lips part but nothing comes out, and your teeth clack together once you clench your jaw shut. He was right, you did come to him, you've never done anything like this before in your life, you need someone like Frank, someone who knows the in's and out's of shit like this.

With slouching shoulders, you sink back into the booth, fork poking at you half eaten muffin. The bill is waiting at the middle edge of the table, torturing you ever time you catch a glimpse of it from the corner of your eye.

After finishing every little crumb, you slap three one dollar bills down, brows furrowed so much out of frustration that you're beginning to get a headache. Frank does the same, and you end up following behind him once he starts to leave without even saying a goodbye.

The door closes behind you with a ring of the bell, and you have to squint to protect your eyes from the harsh brightness of the sun. Frank looks down at you, hands in the pockets of his coat and you muster up the strength to send him the world's smallest smile, and he actually chuckles.

Frank turns, nodding his head as an indication that you should follow him, and your heart is beating fast in your chest again, but now your stomach is doing those weird little flips and you curse yourself in your head for having so many conflicting feelings at once.

Two minutes of walking later and you're approaching his van, and the question he asks stumps you.

"How much?" he asks with a cocked brow.

"What are you talking about?" you laugh out of confusion, fingers playing with the strap of your purse.

"You rent, how much."

"Seven hundred." stating it out loud makes it feel all the worse, and you have to hold back a groan because there's no way you're going to get that sort of money in the next few days.

Frank disappears into the back of the van, digging and fumbling through this and that and you turn in the opposite direction of him, simply to avoid the sun that's practically shriveling up your eyes by now.

"There's an extra hundred there," his hand snakes into your purse, and he moves back before you even have a moment to process what's happening.

"An extra hundred of what?" your tone is amused as you ask the question, but once you peak into you purse, your heart stops.

"Spend it wisely, girl."

"No! I can't," you grab the wad of money from the bottom of your bag, going to shove it in his direction but he's already walking away to sit in the driver's seat of his car.

The door shuts, he starts the car, rolls down the window, and there's the faintest hint of a smirk on his face.

"Looks like you don't have much of a choice, do ya?"

With that, he's gone. Leaving you with a roll of eight hundred dollar in cash and a very slack jaw. All you can do now is trust him - trust that he'll get back to you in time with a real, solid plan.

And now you wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW okay sorry for disappearing for about 500 years i would make an excuse like i was busy with work or school but a bitch just loves to procrastinate, also writers block is terrible. anyways i hope people still, like, read this and enjoy it? super sorry for ghosting like that but really nothing was coming out of my foggy (ha) brain and i've literally been working on this chapter for at least three months rip
> 
> also this is old news but jon is getting his own show for the punisher and truly, i am living


End file.
